


rolled right into my heart

by Lindsflea



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Co-workers, Crack Treated Seriously, Dream Smp, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Roller Skating AU, Rollerblades & Rollerskates, dream owns a roller rink, dream smp au, i am so hyped to write this, roller skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29122323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindsflea/pseuds/Lindsflea
Summary: Granted, he may absolutely despise this job; manning of juvenile delinquents and the enforcing of the rules that the guests rarely follow, but he can never get tired of throwing playful comments back and forth with his best friend and relishing in the feeling of working side by side with some of the closest people in his life.And hey, it pays well too, so why the hell not?ORdream smp roller skating au!updates will be sporadic
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this will be a little au i post snippets of when i don't have motivation for a more serious project/i have a funny idea to put in here :)
> 
> reminder if the cc's ever express discomfort about fanfiction, this will be taken down. respect their boundaries!
> 
> ALSO: according to ao3 statistics, only a small percentage of people who read my fics are actually user subscribed, so if you end up liking this fic, consider user subscribing, it's free, and you can always unsubscribe. enjoy the fanfic /hj

Sapnap pulls open the heavy double doors that enter the roller rink and immediately wants to turn around on his heel and go back home.

What greets him inside the establishment sure is a sight to behold. Multicolored lights beam down from the ceiling and leave reflections of shades of blue and purple shining on the hardwood skating floor. The disco ball rhythmically revolves up in the air, leaving cascades of light in the shape of circles dancing together in pairs across any surface it can reach. The carpets outside of the main skating area are already littered with various pairs of shoes, loose change, and stray wrappers or nacho cheese and carbonated drink stains. Tables lay haphazardly across the entire venue, packed to the brim with rowdy teenagers or playful children and their annoyed parents. Sapnap almost runs into a group of kids, who are running to and fro to every arcade game their eyes lie on. Music booms from the DJ booth up and away from the majority of the crowd, its bass reverberating throughout the walls and practically shaking the room.

Sometimes, Sapnap wonders why he agreed to take the floor guard job from Dream oh so many months ago.

When Dream first wanted to open up his own rink, every single one of his friends deemed him crazy, Sapnap most definitely included. But when he somehow managed to scrounge up the finances needed and rented out a half-assed looking building in the epicenter of their city, people learned not to take Dream’s word for granted anymore.

And when he was looking for workers, Sapnap and a few other of their close friends were more than happy to oblige. 

The main reason behind Sapnap’s motive, however, was he was neck deep in college debt and needed some extra money to weigh his pockets.

So here Sapnap stands, the doors flung open and the cold air leaking into the awfully smelling building, twelve minutes late for his shift, and contemplating all of his previous life choices that led him to this moment.

Sighing, Sapnap counts his blessings and steps inside, letting the doors slam shut behind him.

Nodding to whatever unlucky teenager is in charge of handling entries and exits, he cuts the line of people waiting to enter the rink and ducks his head under the crimson felt rope, making his way into the main part of the building.

He pockets his car keys back in his jacket and slings his work bag over his shoulder, carefully avoiding the plethora of people gallivanting around like madmen on his way to the back room to store his belongings. 

The brunet gives a half-hearted wave to Niki manning the food court as he walks past it, and she smiles warmly back before returning to taking orders, with the line getting more busier by the second.

Finally, he rounds the corner and disappears to the back section of the rink. Less people linger around here and Sapnap exhales in relief. 

Sapnap makes a beeline for the  _ Employees Only!  _ door in the back left side and swings it open, but shops short when a certain blond haired man is on the other side, arms crossed over each other and eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

“You’re late,” Dream remarks, pointing out the obvious. Sapnap fights off a smile.

“Yeah,” he dismisses, pushing past the older man and sliding past the threshold, “but I’m here now.” 

He rests his satchel on top of his locker and shrugs off his jacket, lazily stuffing it into the enclosed space and slamming it shut, locking the metal container with ease. All the while, Dream chides him for  _ work policies  _ and  _ just because you’re my best friend doesn’t mean you should slack off! _ Sapnap easily tunes him out and hums along with the overrated pop song playing in the background. 

“ _ Sapnap _ ,” Dream says, exasperated, “you gotta listen to me.”

Sapnap slips his roller blades out of their designated section and starts putting them on, slapping the clasps together with so much ease that he feels it should be concerning by now. “I am,” he answers, though he most definitely is not.

“Okay, well,” Dream starts, and Sapnap knows his expression has morphed into one of frustration despite having his back turned to him, “you really need to have better time management skills, this is the second time this week that-”

He is cut off by the sound of the pale grey door swinging itself open with such force that it crashes into the wall, rattling the multitude of lockers for a moment before they still.

“Ayo,” a British accent speaks, and Sapnap is once again regretting coming here for the umpteenth time, “where’s Phil?”

Sapnap pretends not to notice Tommy and resumes sliding his skates on, letting Dream do the talking. 

“Tommy, you know you’re not supposed to be in here.” 

“Yeah yeah, big man,” Tommy jabbles, and Sapnap can hear as he smacks his hand lightly on Dream’s shoulder. Dream huffs. “I’m only looking for Dadza, though. Is that too much to ask?” 

“He’s probably out there, y’know, working?” Dream points out the obvious, tone stoic as ever. Sapnap doesn’t blame him one bit.

He finishes fastening his skates firm on his feet and turns around, only to be greeted by the site of Dream, forehead crease pinched together and foot tapping the ground impatiently. Tommy stares up at the oldest, sporting a beaming smile and shifting from side to side restlessly, seemingly unphased by Dream’s demeanour. 

“Yeahhhhh,” Tommy replies, exaggerating the ‘y’.

Dream looks at him dryly, and makes a vague hand motion towards the exit. “Then go look for him?”

Tommy tilts his head back and groans, then props back into position and gives Dream the most shit-eating grin Sapnap has ever seen. Sapnap would take that as his cue to leave, if not for the fact that Tommy was  _ still  _ blocking the door.

“Dreeeeeam,” Tommy whines, once again overemphasising his syllables, “can’t I hang out with my favorite roller rink owner and his comrade?”

“No,” is Dream’s curt reply. Sapnap stifles a chuckle as he picks back up his bag and rummages through it for a bit to find his whistle, then slams it back down on the locker, more than ready to leave and start his already-late shift. Distracted at Tommy and Dream’s now bickering however, he stumbles in his skates and almost trips, leaving the wheels spinning chaotically. 

Tommy guffaws and turns to him, laughing so hard like he had just witnessed the funniest thing ever. “You-” he falters over his words, and peppers them with more hearty giggles, “have worked here for  _ how long _ ? And  _ still  _ manage to slip up in those blades of yours!”

“Piss off Tommy,” Sapnap mumbles, wanting nothing but to get the hell out of there, “I have a shift to do.”

He maneuvers his way past Tommy, who luckily had moved a little to the side in the midst of his chortling, and escapes the room, only to be greeted by his certain doom for the next two hours and some sum of minutes.

“Fifteen minutes late, may I add!” he hears Dream call back in response. Sapnap rolls his eyes as he skates on the plush carpet, leaving a few miniscule dents in the swirly neon patterns.

“Better late than never!” he rebuts, steadily making his way towards the already  _ very  _ crowded rink. 

“I’m still docking your paycheck,” is the last thing Sapnap hears before he is out of earshot.

He shakes his head fondly, smiling despite himself.

Making his way on the rink and almost automatically having to scold someone for using their phone while skating, he decides that his curses significantly outnumber his blessings right about now.

Granted, he may absolutely despise this job; manning of juvenile delinquents and the enforcing of the rules that the guests rarely follow, but he can never get tired of throwing playful comments back and forth with his best friend and relishing in the feeling of working side by side with some of the closest people in his life.

And hey, it pays well too, so why the hell not?

~

George to the left side of Wilbur, scuffing the concrete pavement lightly with every step they take.

The evening air is chilly and bitter, biting at the tip of George’s nose and his cheeks as they walk in the city. He pulls the strings of his hoodie tighter around his face and stuffs his hands back in his pockets, shivering. They can’t arrive at the rink soon enough.

Wilbur has his beanie pulled tightly over his hair, covering his ears. He rubs his gloved hands back and forth together to create some friction, puffing out a smoke of cold air that lingers and then dissipates into the frosted atmosphere. His cheeks are red and puffy, similar to how George most likely looks as well. George sets his gaze on the back of Wilbur, where a rather  _ odd  _ inanimate object to bring to a roller rink of all places is adding on extra weight to what Wilbur is already carrying: a pair of roller skates and his wallet.

“Why are you bringing that?” George asks, breaking the silence as he motions to the acoustic guitar strapped behind Wilbur’s back.

“Why are you bringing money?” Wilbur shoots back, and George whips his head to face him, mouth parted in incredulous shock.

“Because I need it to pay for entry and ticket rental..?” George claims, but the look Wilbur gives him makes him wonder if they are  _ not  _ going to a public place and he does  _ not  _ need to pay in order to gain access. 

“Dude,” Wilbur starts, and turns his head away to face forwards, continuing the trudging journey to their destination, “your boyfriend literally  _ owns  _ the rink, you think you need to pay?”

George scoffs, finally understanding the implications of Wilbur’s gaze. “I don’t work there and I rarely even skate. I should pay just as much as the next guy.”

Wilbur narrows his eyes at him, his amber gaze settling right into George’s brown. Anybody else would have found it intimidating, but George knows his best friend; he wouldn’t hurt a fly, and most certainly would never push George’s boundaries. It’s all in good fun.

“He literally worships the ground you walk on, man. I don’t think it would hurt to get one free entry.”

“I don’t want people to think I get special treatment or anything. It’s fine,” George dismisses, and before Wilbur can reply, the roller rink comes in view. George perks up.

“Hey, we’re here!” He turns his slow walk into a light jog, and Wilbur follows suit. They carefully avoid the cars pulling in and out of the parking lot as they approach the entrance.

There is no line, considering the rink opened up forty five minutes ago for its five to eight PM skate, so they easily walk in and approach the employee, who looks like they’d rather walk barefoot across a thousand scorching hot coals than be there. 

“Two entry tickets and one skating rental, please,” George greets so easily that it is almost second nature at this point. Him and Wilbur have walked to the rink together since it first opened, sometimes with Dream and Sapnap joining them if they decide to go early.

Begrudgingly, the employee hands them their tickets as George and Wilbur pass their money across the marble register. 

“Thank you!” Wilbur and George chirp in unison, and the kid does so much as to give a curt nod in return to their sentiment.

“Who was that?” Wilbur shouts to George once they’re out of earshot and in the main building. Which, they’ll have you know, is impossibly loud and so ear-piercing that they have to  _ yell  _ in order for the other to hear what they’re saying.

“No clue,” George responds, shrugging. “New recruit I guess? He seemed miserable.”

They make their way over to the skate rental, shuffling past a group of high schoolers taking a group picture and an older woman scolding a child who looks to be on the verge of tears. Once they make their way at the end of the line, which is a mile long it seems, their conversation continues.

Wilbur chuckles. “I’ll say. He looked like he wanted to murder us.”

“He probably did,” George agrees, eyes sparkling with mirth. Wilbur grunts in response, preoccupied with pulling his guitar off his back and situating it in his hands. The roller skates fall limp from his hands, tumbling over each other before resting idly on the carpeted floor. They move up a few more people in line.

“Really?” George asks, unamused, “you’re gonna get kicked out.”

“Nuh-uh,” Wilbur bellows, shaking his head childishly, “not if you’re here.” He pokes George playfully in the chest and the shorter brunet rolls his eyes, but doesn’t respond. Because, well, it’s true; Dream won’t get upset at  _ anything  _ as long as his partner is involved, the simp.

Wilbur smirks, smug and satisfied, and strums a chord on his guitar, wetting his lips in concentration as he tunes it by ear. They’re next in line, and whoever is working rentals is going to have a field day with this.

Once Wilbur is satisfied with the state of his guitar’s intonation, he strums a few more warm up notes before bursting into full song; lyrics, chords, the weird facial expressions, the entire bit. A couple of onlookers give the pair weird glances and a few even stop to watch, clapping along to the beat. George has never been more mortified in his life.

Once the trio of blond haired, makeup infested teens gather up their skates and skip off to the restrooms, George abandons Wilbur and skids up to the counter, resting his elbows on the smooth surface. Unfortunately, Wilbur follows, his singing and strumming as loud as ever as he externally vibes to  _ Your New Boyfriend _ .

“Your new boyfriend’s an-”

“Wilbur if you don’t shut the fuck up I’m calling for Phil to haul your ass out of here.”

Wilbur turns his head so sharply to the sound of the voice George swears he must have gotten whiplash. His previous musical impromptus subside as he takes in the man who threatened to kick him out and the employee currently manning the skate rentals.

Schlatt.

His resting bitch face is powerful as ever, eyebrows pinched in annoyance and eyes like slits as he glares down at Wilbur, who reciprocates the same expression right back at him. Wilbur’s guitar now rests idly at his side and he straightens his posture to rise taller. Schlatt keeps his chin hoisted by one arm perching on the counter, while the other casually taps on the large sum of money the previous group left.

George looks to Schlatt, then to Wilbur. Then back to Schlatt.

He exhales in preparation to casually ask for skates and then escape whatever the hell he just came in between, but Wilbur beats him to saying anything.

“You and what army, Schlatt?”

Schlatt laughs dryly. “You do realise guitars and any other instruments of head piercing  _ torture  _ aren’t allowed on the premises?” 

Wilbur grimaces, and sneers wickedly at Schlatt’s direction. George distantly wonders why they absolutely despise each other and  _ for what _ . Normally he’s up to date with all the drama revolving around him and his small group of friends, but this puzzles him indefinitely.

“Since when did you follow rules?” Wilbur questions, only receiving an eye roll in response, so he continues speaking:

“And besides, they are allowed when I have Gogy here,” Wilbur argues, patting the top of George’s head for extra emphasis. George shrinks in on himself, annoyed. “And you can’t do  _ anything  _ about it!” he exclaims, turning back to Schlatt and smiling triumphantly. 

George hears a few people behind them in line complaining of the wait.

Schlatt turns to George, and he can already hear the snide comment he is about to make.

As if on cue, Schlatt says, “George, can  _ you  _ tell mister Soot over here that if he doesn’t follow _Dreamin’ Skate’s_ policies, that there  _ will  _ be consequences?”

“I literally just want some size seven roller skates,” George deadpans.

Wilbur and Schlatt stare at him like he just grew a second head.

“S-size seven?” Wilbur splutters.

“Yeah?” George says, suddenly self-conscious, “that’s the size I always get.”

“You’re-” Schlatt starts.

“so small!” Wilbur finishes, eyes wide as he tries to stifle his boisterous laughter that will inevitably escape. Schlatt looks close to cracking. 

George sighs. As much as he loved that the two stopped being at each other’s throats, he would prefer that to making fun of his  _ average  _ height any day. “You know what? Nevermind. I’ll just go find Dream; we’re holding up the line.”

With that, George abandons the two. He doesn’t miss the way Wilbur calls after him with meaningless rambles and how Schlatt eyes the crowd that formed behind them and practically jumps out of his skin as he continues his job.

“So much for skating, I guess,” George mumbles to himself. 

But really, if what Wilbur said about Dream letting him get away with anything, he needn’t complain. Dream probably has an extra pair of skates just his size stored in the employee’s only section anyway. 


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> new characters and new shenanigans.

Techno tends to hold grudges. Whether it was his old manager docking his paycheck for no apparent reason or that one kid who stuck gum in his hair in middle school and he didn't notice for weeks because the colors matched, he doesn't forget things like that easily. And he stays upset for as long as he can possibly muster.

Maybe that's why he decided to work at his high school rival's roller rink. 

Dream and Techno were at the top of their classes throughout all of high school for both academics and sports wise. They maintained a high GPA, captained various sports teams, and participated in so many extracurriculars most thought they weren't even human.

Things went ablaze for them around mid freshmen year. They were always turning everything into a competition and were at each other's throats the entire school season. Even at graduation, where they both had to make a speech for their graduation class, they were both as well trying to make said diction immaculate to best the other.

It was silly and quite childish, honestly; it  _ still  _ is.

But do they really care? Nah.

So Techno took the offer as manager of the rink; the position right below Dream but so higher up in the ranks that Dream  _ has  _ to listen to him, and it drives the blond insane. Techno thrives off of his annoyance.

Techno _ knows  _ Dream can't fire him either. The rest of the staff adore his monotone voice and stickler attitude, _ for some reason,  _ not to mention the skate regulars. If Dream let Techno go riots would ensue, and that's an understatement.

(not to mention Phil would be more than happy to put his two cents in as well.)

With his navy blue button up and black jeans; pink hair slicked back in a long braid and deadpan facial expression on show, Techno struts into the building forty five- no,  _ fifty five _ , oh well- minutes late.

Techno’s job as rink manager is simple, really. Monitor the employees to make sure they’re doing their jobs correctly, call guests out if they’re getting too out of line, and basically act as Dream’s doppelganger when he isn’t around to call the shots; which is  _ most  _ of the time. Hell, he doesn’t even have to skate. 

Really, the last point should be considered a benefit. Techno would much rather boss kids around and get glares like daggers from their parents then have to avoid the little gremlins with  _ wheels  _ for feet for hours at a time. 

But when Techno ventures further into the establishment and locks his charcoal gaze at Dream and George skating together on the rink, he really can’t resist messing around a little bit.

He makes his way up to the skate rental counter, which surprisingly has no line. Schlatt had his back turned, seemingly busy with organising the plethora of pairs of skates people had turned in moments prior.

Techno clears his throat and Schlatt, honest to God,  _ squeaks _ and spins around, landing on the balls of his feet and almost tripping. Techno suppresses the urge to chuckle.

“What was  _ that _ ?” Schlatt glares daggers at the bubblegum haired man, darting his eyes back and forth relentlessly.

“Shut the hell up, you heard  _ nothing _ !” 

Techno shrugs and situates his hands on the counter, threading his fingers together back and forth mindlessly. “Size eleven blades.”

Schlatt visibly relaxes at the change of subject, despite Techno’s rather impolite asking for skates. He turns on his heel and disappears for a moment and then returns, clutching the pair of skates in between his arms. His chin twitches a little as his stubble itches the skin around it, then he slams the blades down  _ dangerously  _ close to smashing Techno’s hands. Techno barely flinches.

“Thanks,” he says, and snatches the blades away. Schlatt honestly looks like he is about to blow a fuse, but Techno pays no mind to it as he rounds the corner to snap his skates on.

Once his blades are safely fastened and secured around his feet, he makes his way towards the rink, choosing to ignore the screaming children and rushing teens past him; one looking awfully like Tommy. 

_ He’ll be fine,  _ Techno decides,  _ or he’ll cause trouble and have Phil to blame for it. _

Stepping onto the rink is the most difficult thing about skating, in Techno’s opinion. The stoop from the plush carpet to the hardwood floor is definitely notable; and he’s seen people trip over it too many times to count. Not to mention the not so subtle change of texture as well.

But once he gets past that obstacle, Techno takes off. 

The rush of adrenaline passes through his body in light tremors and palpates inside of his head. Everything about roller skating feels absolutely amazing: from the friction between the revolving wheels below his feet and the shiny wooden floorboards, to the rush of light wind in his flowing hair and clothes. It makes him out of breath in the most perfect way, not to mention the small beads of sweat pulling up around his forehead and arms. Techno has to admit; albeit roller skating was not a major part of his job, he still loves it with a passion.

Rushing past the flurries of people and skating like the wind, Techno feels free as a bird. It was absolutely exhilarating as he circles the rink a few times, letting the main reason he was on the floor in the first place move to the back of his mind for a while as he just relishes in the exercise rushing throughout his entire being.

As he laps Dream and George a third time, he decides he had enough of enjoyment with the activity and moves to finally catch up to them properly. He takes off, weaving past multiple people, and keeps his speed steady until he approaches the two.

The rhythmic motion of his skates screeching off the floor back and forth picked the pace in which he was going so easily. Moving the blades to and fro, left and right, he easily catches up to the pair; who were unbeknownst that the pink haired man was right behind them by now.

Dream and George are talking mindlessly to each other, skating at an unbearably slow pace, with the blond’s right hand linked with the brunet’s left, fingers resting on top of each other and rubbing comforting circles into the palms of their hands. It is domestic-  _ too  _ domestic- and Techno is more than happy to interrupt the lovebirds.

“Hey,” Techno calls, once he is right behind them. George jumps in front of Dream and shrieks, similar to what Schlatt had done minutes before, and Dream steadies him just in time before they both topple over; his hands idly resting on George’s waist. 

George flushes a bright red, and Techno internally groans.

“Techno.” Dream responds, and it almost sounds like a warning. Techno ignores it.

“How’s it going,  _ boss man _ ?” Techno chides, letting overwhelming sarcasm lace his voice. He may only be able to see the back of Dream’s head, but he can just  _ sense  _ that the Floridan rolls his eyes.

“What do you need, Techno?” Dream asks, and he almost sounds bored. He lets George go after a few moments of clumsy face to face skating, and he shifts back to rest by Dream’s right side right away. 

“Nothin’ really,” Techno starts, and  _ oh man he didn’t plan anything.  _ Sure, he knew he wanted to out best Dream at something today, he hasn’t done that in a while, but  _ what _ ?

Belatedly, Techno realises they are in the middle of a roller rink.

And Techno absolutely  _ loves  _ soaring across the pavement.

And he loves pestering Dream about things he can be better at even more.

Confident, Techno continues: “Just wonderin’ why you’re going so unbearably slow on the rink.”

Dream turns his head a little so he can just barely face where Techno looms, and his face is priceless.

Brows scrounged up in annoyance, as always, piercing green eyes aiming like crossbows straight through Techno’s skull, lips pointed into a close to be called scowl. He was angry already, and Techno thrives off of it.

“Because I don’t have to go fast? It’s not a race, Techno.”

Techno almost laughs. “What? Are you backing down from a little race, Dream?”

Dream’s eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth parts in shock. George watches the scene, obviously unamused. “Are you  _ challenging  _ me?”

Techno shrugs. “Sure. Sounds like you’re not up for it, tho-”

“Oh no. I am most  _ definitely  _ up for it,” Dream interrupts, and Techno internally gloats in his own victory. Before he can catch the reactions of either Dream or George, he shoots off, harnessing all the previous energy he had when first entering the rink, and  _ flies _ .

Dream calls out in protest from behind him, and this time Techno actually laughs. Everything about this situation is hilarious: how Techno got Dream to abandon George that easily, over a rink race no less, his immediate energy from the chase, and Dream’s cries of  _ cheater!  _ and  _ I will fire you for this!  _ echoing from behind.

As per usual, Dream eventually is right on his heel. Techno wickedly grins. It’s just like old times: the two fighting over something so utterly stupid and underwhelming, then turning it into a battle to the death around countless other people. He doesn’t miss the way Dream lunges for his hair, ultimately fails, and later lets out a few short breaths of wheezy laughter. Techno moves his feet against the wooden floor a bit faster to lengthen the distance between the two again.

A few moments later he laps George, and the Brit looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. Techno doesn’t blame him.

The crowds and music around Techno becomes easy whitenoise, and with every long stride forward the distance between the two competitors gets even longer. Admittedly, Techno does have to shove a few people out of the way or let out a lanky foot to trip a few annoying kids(well,  _ that  _ wasn’t exactly necessary) to make room for the continuous chase. Frankly, Techno does not care. Any chance to mess with people and get them annoyed: he takes it.

After lapping George twice,  _ thrice _ , he finally hears the elongated call of: “Techno! Fine. You win.”

He whoops, though monotone as ever, and throws his fist to the sky in mock victory. Slowing down his face exponentially, Techno skates to the edge of the rink and leans up against the wall and he watches as Dream and George pass by; the former completely out of breath and the latter looking absolutely miserable.

Smirking, he oversees as the pair skate past him, Dream throwing him a not so subtle glare every chance he gets. The two being side by side yet again, they depart the rink and Dream promptly collapses on a bench, throwing his hands over his head and stretching his legs out. George gives him a half hearted pat on the shoulder and Techno watches the entire ordeal in amusement.

Yeah, Techno absolutely  _ loves  _ having these utterly useless competitions with his old high school rival.  _ Especially  _ when he wins.

~

Tubbo, for lack of a better word, is confused.

Confused as to why he lets his best friend drag him to the local rink time and time again, only to cause complete chaos and wreak havoc into the fine establishment. Tubbo doesn’t really think Dream and Phil and the rest deserve to clean up after Tommy’s mess of childish glee so often, but here he stands, backing up his friend as always as he yet again gets in trouble with one of the unfamiliar employees Tubbo can’t quite name.

Currently standing in the back corner of the roller rink, just to the right of the skate rental, the worker is up against the wall with Tommy practically towering over him despite being a few feet away. Tubbo stands off to the right side of Tommy, eyeing the employees only door and distantly wondering if the two of them would notice if he just  _ snuck away... _

“Fundy!” Tommy drawls, and  _ oh yeah, that’s his name _ . The ginger looks absolutely exhausted: clothes tousled about and hair completely disheveled, accompanying the hideous eye bags directly below his eyes; Tommy most definitely is  _ not  _ helping with his clear sleep deprivation.

“Just vouch for me this one time?  _ Please _ ?” Fundy makes a show of rolling his eyes.

“I vouched for you yesterday man, you can’t keep pulling this shit.” 

Tommy bites the bottom of his lip and pulls the skin up, making a show of puffing out his mouth and widening his eyes to the size of saucers, posing the most obnoxious pleading face he could ever muster. Judging by the look of Fundy’s expression, he isn’t falling for it.

Tubbo stays quiet throughout the whole ordeal, just watching his friend and an infuriated personnel standing off against each other in the middle of a roller rink.

“Pleeeeeeease Fundy?” Tommy drawls out, even cocking his head to the side a little to look a lot more like a lost puppy, “we didn’t even do anything that bad this time!”

“ _ We _ ?” Fundy incredulously repeats. “Come on, Tommy, it’s  _ you _ . It’s not Tubbo’s fault you dragged him into this mess of yours.”

Tubbo doesn’t decide to ponder for too long on how Fundy knows his name, and instead nods feverishly. Tommy sends him a look of utter betrayal, and Tubbo smiles back innocently, accenting his dimples.

“I- well-” Tommy turns back to Fundy in the midst of his spluttering, and drops the puppy dog facade.

“What did you even  _ do _ ?” Fundy asks, exasperated.

Tubbo shrinks in on himself, still embarrassed on what had happened moments prior, as Tommy responds.

“Wemayormaynothavebrokenthenachomachine.”

“Come again?” 

Tubbo gives in, the guilt eating him up from outside. “Tommy and I broke the nacho machine while trying to get the excess cheese out for ourselves!”

Fundy facepalms and groans into the palm of his hand. “I should have known. This is  _ worse  _ than last time Tommy, I can’t help you with this.”

Tubbo risks a glance over at his maniacal friend and can  _ definitely  _ notice that he is about to reach his breaking point. He sports an evil toothy smile fixated onto his face as he locks his gaze on Fundy, eyes wide and practically bulging out of his face. Tubbo swears on his bee plush that he can most definitely see Tommy  _ shaking _ .

Apprehensive, Tubbo takes a few careful paces back.

It’s lucky that he did, because Tommy  _ lunges  _ at the poor man, succeeding into pinning him beneath the wall and holding his wrists up under his shaking hands. Even with an insane man child right in front of him, Fundy looks unphased as per usual. (not to mention the aforementioned exhaustion pooling in his eyes).

“Come on man, Phil or Dream is gonna kill me if they find out! Or both of them  _ at once _ ! You don’t want that happening, do you?”

“You win some, you lose some,” Fundy curtly recites, before wriggling himself out from underneath Tommy’s grasp, slipping into the employees only room and promptly locking the door.

Tommy stomps his foot on the floor in anger, watching bitterly as Fundy disappears. “He’ll regret this.”

Tubbo shuffles over and rests an appreciative hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Tommy.”

Suddenly, Tommy’s eyes light up with unmistakable mirth and mischief. He skirts his sight back and forth across the rink, wetting his lips and grinning slyly. Tubbo doesn’t think he’ll be able to read himself this time for whatever plan Tommy has formed.

“Well,” Tommy starts, and  _ oh no  _ because  just by the tone of his voice Tubbo can tell this won’t be any good, “if we aren’t getting out of this, better to be even  _ more  _ of a pair of nuisances, huh?”

  
“Tommy, I really don’t think we should-”   
  


“Nonsense, Tubbo, my very best friend!” Tommy interrupts, and jumps up and down on the heels of his feet in excitement. “I already have the  _ perfect  _ plan.”

Tubbo sighs, and nods once. Whatever the idea may be, it’s inevitable that he will tag along right with it; Tommy and him are sticklers for companionships and loyalty, and that isn’t changing anytime soon. 

With this, Tommy grabs his hand and starts pulling the brunet to the rink, snickering all the while.

As they near the hardwood floor, Tubbo gets more nervous by the second. “Tommy don’t we need skates?”

Tommy laughs, evil and low, and Tubbo involuntarily shudders because  **_oh no_ ** .

As the rambunctious blond continues to pull the pair through the crowds of people, Tubbo spots Dream and George sitting together on a bench. They are lined directly in front of the entrance to the main rink, and Tommy is heading right towards them. 

It seems to all happen in slow motion.

Tommy walks up right in front of the pair, smiles wickedly, turns on his heel, and gallivants onto the rink, whooping with laughter. 

George’s jaw drops as he watches the teen with nothing on his feet save for a pair of cotton socks skid across the floor in the midst of the wheel footed guests. Dream looks like he’s about to murder something (or  _ somebody _ ).

“What the hell?!” the older blond bellows, and skids off in the direction Tommy went, which was the  _ opposite  _ direction the rest of the skaters were going. He hears Sapnap’s whistle blowing in the distance followed by a yell of protest.

George and Tubbo make eye contact for a split second, brown mixing into auburn, and simultaneously give out sighs of both exhaustion and irritation. 

The state of the rink is a mess now. People desperately trying to get out of the way of Tommy as he slips across the floor in fluid yet reckless motions. Sapnap and Dream both at his heel, crying out for him to  _ stop  _ and threatening to ban him from the rink for good. Techno on the sidelines, practically laughing his ass off at the scene that had unfolded in front of him. It’s chaotic; exactly what Tommy was planning.

Tubbo is confused on how he always gets into these sorts of situations. He’s a good kid; good grades, good manners, good morals. Tommy is the polar opposite, always getting into all sorts of trouble. Tubbo could turn around and exit the building now and get away with everything he did with Tommy prior to this catastrophic event scotch free.

But Tubbo always follows his best friend to the rink to get in trouble time and time again, despite any future repercussions or consequences the two may receive. Throwing his morals aside, he gives a silly salute to George and steps onto the wooden floor, screeching for Tommy and maneuvering around the bystanders in giddy glee.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so so much for the love on all my fics! i recently hit 2000 hits and 300 kudos on 'the reveal' and i'm absolutely awestruck at that! thank you thank you thank you for reading and enjoying <3

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!! be sure to subscribe to the series if you wanna read more of it :]
> 
> comments & kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/lindsflea)


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